Of Silver Bees
by WhiteRookBlackBishop
Summary: There are two men in 221B. One is a wizard, the other is not. This is a story of how one man discovers the other. The question is, who is really making the discoveries?
1. Obliviate

Opening

**3:20 a.m.**

_The two inhabitants of 221B were only just settling into bed. Despite this, both were still squirming with energy left unspent. The tallest had their limbs tangled with their partner's, practically soldering them to the bed. Their partner didn't seem to mind._

_"Are you sure you don't mind?" one asked the second. The second only hummed and clicked their tongue before forming an answer._

_"I still love you, no matter what you are," they murmured. "Of course I don't mind. I think you are amazing."_

_The first seemed satisfied and kissed them goodnight, snuggling close and closing their eyes. The second followed their example, and soon a soft peace settled in the flat._

_Slowly, the first opened their eyes and pried away from the second. He pressed his lips against his partner's forehead and took a shuddering breath. Holding out an object- a long, wooden wand with an intricately-designed handle- he took one last despairing look at his partner._

_"_Obliviate._"_

* * *

"Hurry, John, the trail will go cold- have you been listening at all to me?" Sherlock demanded, running about the room looking for God-knows-what. John stumbled out of Sherlock's room sleepily. He'd slept for a long while. Longer than normal.

Sherlock paused in the middle of his search to stare at John. He seemed to be watching him for something with that unnerving gaze of his.

John felt slightly uncomfortable under his best friend's stare and fidgeted. "What?"

"Nothing… Nothing, doesn't matter," Sherlock hummed. He ran out the door, leaving the poor doctor dazed and confused in the kitchen.

* * *

A man was walking home alone when he noted the fogginess of the streets. His partner had gone home without him again. Unwilling to deal with any unpredictable accidents in the dense fog, he took the Tube home instead. It should have been the emptiness of the underground that first tipped him off that something definitely wasn't right. As the train departed, a feeling of cold dread washed over him.

The man let out a small gasp, his head light and heavy. He didn't feel too well. As his head lolled to the side, he noticed that something was very not good in his compartment.

The fog from outside seemed to leak into the train from the outside. The temperature seemed to drop. He let out a small whimper and forced himself out of his seat and out the door the moment they opened at Baker Street station. He cried out for help, but the station was deserted. The train left without him, and the station was silent.

But it wasn't peaceful. The man struggled to stand but fell again. He gasped, crawling for the stairs. He cried out again, his shouts reaching deaf ears. He pawed at the tile floor.

The feeling of dread intensified, and he turned to lie on his back, defeated. He felt drunk and useless, lying to accept his fate. What he hadn't accounted for was the dense fog to overwhelm him, and the feeling that something was tugging sharply at his very soul.

Memories resurfaced in his mind. This was no flashback of his entire life, however. No, these were terrible memories. He whimpered.

Gunshots. People shouting. Getting beaten up. Finally, the last memory seemed to force its way into his mind.

_I'm standing over a grave. I can read the familiar name: Sherlock Holmes. I know that the man I gave my heart to will be gone to me forever. Forgive me… I'm so sorry, I never meant to fail you like I did… I'm so sorry, wait for me, please-_

The memory seemed to fade, like everything else. The man let out a final sigh, and the tugging feeling intensified until he felt an internal pop, and a glowing light pierced his vision.

And then the feeling of dread disappeared. He was hollow. He didn't feel a thing. The body that lay spiritually broken on the floor took a shuddering breath, staring at nothing at all.

A loud crack interrupted the deafening silence. A voice shouted something unintelligible. Lights began to fill the room in pulses. The small glowing light that had appeared first began to fade back into the man's body. He took a gasping breath and coughed, the feeling of dread returning but fading all at once. He felt like he was about to vomit.

He could hear the new voice call out his name, but he didn't listen. His body felt too light. He closed his eyes.

But not before he noticed the small little bee made of light wandering on the tile by his face.

_**End of Opening**_

**Author's note: I should mention that italicized scenes in the beginning or end of the chapters are indefinite moments in the story's timeline. They could have happened in the past or the future, but will eventually be explained in further chapters.**

**For all those confused, I will explain myself:**

_This opening is meant to be vague. Very, VERY vague. The rest of the story will be in detail, I promise._

_During this chapter, I attempted to write in the Muggle's point of view. The fog is a Dementor, and the bee is a Patronus (there are a swarm of bees surrounding the victim; he only saw the one). The cracking sound is a wizard Apparating into the station to protect the victim._

_If you are confused why I didn't blatantly describe the Dementor, it is because in the books, Muggles aren't supposed to be able to see them. They notice the fog and feel dread, but like most magical creatures, they cannot see the creature itself._

_The Dementor had almost succeeded in a Dementor's Kiss. The victim's soul was literally sucked out of their body before their savior arrived._

_I apologize for the confusion._


	2. Rennervate

**12:00 p.m.**

_John had the day off, and decided it would be better spent cleaning the chaos of the flat than mucking around watching the telly. He exhaled sharply as he pulled the desk away from the wall for a brief few minutes of sweeping, and froze when a small wooden clatter interrupted the peace._

_The doctor knelt down and lifted what seemed to be a polished stick. It could have been a baton, though he knew better. Batons were almost never this short or thick. This was a well-cared for stick. He traced the base of it, where a senseless map had been carefully carved into the wood and worn in areas of use._

_"What is this doing on the floor?" he wondered aloud. He stood up and turned to set it on the mantle, hidden slightly behind the skull. He would have a talk with Sherlock later about leaving valuables on the ground._

* * *

Sherlock roused from his sleep at the ungodly hour of one in the afternoon. John was in the kitchen making tea, if the clatter of cups had been anything to go by. He groaned and sat up, regretting it immediately. His head swam and throbbed.

"Awake?" John poked his head in. The smell of black tea wafted in through the open door, and the doctor walked in with the drink on a tray. Sherlock took his without any acknowledgement for who provided it, and drank it all in one swig.

"My head is pounding, John, what did I do?" he asked warily. If he had gotten drunk again…

"Er, I believe we went home together, drank some tea, and I went to bed before you did," John supplied. He shrugged. "If you did anything odd, I doubt it was anything spectacularly stupid, though I've thought that way before and was sorely mistaken."

Sherlock groaned and lay back in bed, finding little comfort in the cooling pillow. He rubbed his eyes.

"Bees," he mumbled, and fell asleep immediately afterward. John stared at him in disbelief before walking back out of the room to start his day.

Two hours later, Sherlock woke again. To his relief his headache had gone. Unfortunately, so had John. He sighed and got out of bed.

"John Watson…" he hummed, treading into the living room. He lifted a hand to pick up his sudoku cube when he froze.

A decorated stick lay carelessly on the desk. He abandoned the cube in favor of the treasure, lifting it carefully. It felt like it was humming with pent up energy. Sherlock held it close to his face, inspecting it for dents.

Holly. Around twenty-eight centimeters. Well-cared for, despite its careless placing. What amused the detective, however, was the little treasure map carved in the handle of the wood. It didn't look like it went anywhere. He would have to ask John why this stick was lying on the desk where it risked breaking, and he set it on the mantle behind the skull.

* * *

**Hogwarts, year 3**

He was afraid. The entire Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class felt as afraid as he did. Even the teacher seemed on edge. The entity in the enchanted cage just floated there, staring down at them with lack of eyes.

"Now, remember the spell," the professor told them gently. "Think of the happiest memory you have, and then say, 'Expecto Patronum'. Repeat after me: 'Expecto Patronum'."

"Expecto Patronum," the class chorused. Their professor shook his head.

"With feeling, everyone! Expecto Patronum!"

"_Expecto Patronum!_" the class shouted in unison. The professor nodded in approval.

"Now, ten points to every student that can produce a Patronus in the duration of this lesson. And don't worry, that Dementor will not leave his cage."

The students all scattered about the room to practice. A whole cacophony of Patronus spells filled the room. After a few minutes, the first full-bodied Patronus slithered from a startled Hufflepuff girl's wand. The professor laughed and rewarded ten points to her class as a Ravenclaw shrieked at the rattlesnake.

Two minutes after the snake incident, a silver rat climbed onto a Ravenclaw boy's shoulder and peered around the room. Another minute, and a peacock took flight above their heads, much to the pleasure of another Ravenclaw.

The boy felt frustrated. All he'd been able to produce was smoke. He stopped chanting and stood, closing his eyes. He needed a happy memory. Happy…

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he cried.

For a brief second, his heart sank as he believed nothing would happen. And then…

A swarm of bees poured from his wand and flew about the room. He stood, frozen in place. Bees?

These bees, contrary to belief, did not remain in a clustered swarm. No, they had a mind of their own, as separate entities. A few remained flying around the room. Several landed and wandered on different desks. A few landed on the wall. One was in a shrieking Hufflepuff girl's hair, and a Ravenclaw was trying to shake off the one that landed on his trousers.

"A truly effective means of protection," the professor noted, and the bees vanished. "Now, should I award ten points for your success, or ten points for every Patronus body you've just conjured..?"

The answer seemed unanimous. The boy only stood there, still confused.

**Year 6**

The need for a Patronus never came up until three years later. As punishment for a rather terrific prank pulled by the boy's Gryffindor and Slytherin acquaintances, Headmaster McGonagall assigned them to Professor Hagrid for the cleanup and care of creatures in the Forbidden Forest. The only person the least fazed by their punishment was the boy.

Although Hagrid attempted to find a safe route for them to travel, the Forest was still fraught with danger. This did not exclude a Dementor, which had drifted straight into their path.

The boy's two partners, two Slytherins, scrambled for their wands to assist him. The boy remained frozen in place as the dread and fear overwhelmed him. Behind him, a Patronus mockingbird dissipated out of its owner's fear.

"Get out your wand!" a Slytherin begged him, gripping the fainting form of his girlfriend. The Dementor slowly moved away from her and toward the boy. He finally snapped out of his senses.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he shouted. The bees swarmed the Forest. The Slytherin boy stared breathlessly as two rested on his girlfriend's stomach to protect them both. Several landed on the trees and many chased the Dementor away. The boy stood in disbelief, watching the Dementor flee. He turned and grinned at his partners, before kneeling to wake the girl up.

**End of Chapter 1**

**_Author's note: I promised the chapter would be less vague, and I meant to make it less vague, I really did... I just didn't want to give anything away until the next chapter. But hopefully you have some information about our wizard._  
**

**_The wand I described is made of holly, 11 inches (22.94 centimeters, exactly), and has a core of phoenix feather. As I likely won't have our wizard describe it (it's not necessary to tell a Muggle what your wand is really made of), I should tell you that now. Our wizard is also in either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. I chose these two classes because John and Sherlock both could have gotten into either of them._**

**_As previously mentioned, the wizard's Patronus is a swarm of bees. Probably enough to form a hive. They all have a will of their own and act like a single Patronus would and wander where they will._**

**_Until next time!_**


	3. Incendio

**Author's note: I don't normally write an AN in the beginning of a chapter, but I believe this was well deserved. I hadn't thought my story would become so popular, and in fact I wasn't expecting people to read it at all. I have read and reread all of the reviews and PMs I have gotten. They all made me so happy!**

**For all of you who have truly impressed me with your deductions, for "Person", "Fai's smile", "Silverdragonstar", "Nataly SkyPot", "cethmistmyk", "Guest", and for "Old Ping Hai", this chapter is for you.**

* * *

The young age of ten had been a turning point in our hero's life. You see, when he turned ten, he began to discover he could do things. Special things that no other child his age seemed to do.

His family thought it was odd, and told him to keep his talents hidden. But, like your average ten-year-old, he did not listen and instead played with it when mummy and daddy were away.

The little boy sat alone in the grass outside his neighborhood. Three children approached him. The boy noticed that they were his new neighbors, having only moved in the day previously, and were the only children outside of himself in the entire neighborhood.

"Hullo, I'm Thomas and I play hopscotch," a blond boy with a lisp introduced himself.

"I'm Reggie. I can draw really good," said a dark-haired boy.

"And I'm Sophie. I can do a cartwheel, want to see?" the little girl said shyly. Before the boy could answer, the girl ran off and did a complete cartwheel, landing neatly in the grass. The boy smiled and stood up.

"Want to see what I can do?" the boy asked. The other children nodded excitedly.

The grass started to tremble. They quivered. They shook. And then, they snapped, swirling in the wind. The children gasped, startled. And then they screamed when the grass blades turned into little green spiders, crawling up the strange boy's legs..

"What are you, some sort of freak?" Thomas spat, dragging Sophie away. Reggie backed away before turning to run, the other two on his heels.

The little boy sat alone in the grass outside his neighborhood, the spiders quivering and collapsing into a pile of grass again. The children never approached him to play again.

* * *

**11:20 p.m.**

"John! I've got it! The killer wasn't Mr. Shaprey, it was-" Sherlock jumped out of his chair and whirled around to face John- or where he was not five minutes ago. He deflated and stared at the chair.

Mrs. Hudson rapped at the door. "Hoo-hoo! Sherlock dear, a client was just outside, you should really replace the doorbell."

"Mrs. Hudson, did John step out?" Sherlock asked her. The old woman frowned and pressed a knuckle to her lips in thought.

"I'm sure I would have seen him if he did, I was only outside my flat to answer the door. Poor woman, dreadful business with her husband," she told him. "I'd been out there about seven minutes. Perhaps John stepped out before then?"

"I'd been talking to him five minutes ago. I'll look for him upstairs, perhaps he walked out on me again," Sherlock sighed. "Good evening, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, the mess you've made," the landlady tutted as she descended back down the stairs.

Sherlock skipped every other step up to John's old room and peered inside. The bed was empty and made, almost absolutely perfect. Nobody was inside. He trudged back down and into the sitting room.

"Forget something?"

Sherlock jumped and looked up. John blinked and smiled at him pleasantly from his chair. Sherlock turned to look at the stairs and back at his flatmate.

"Sorry, I, um…" the detective was at a complete loss.

"You were still talking when I went down to buy more milk," John told him. He stood up and patted Sherlock's shoulder. "It's late. I'm going to get dressed and go to bed. You joining me?"

"Yes- Yeah, just in a second…" Sherlock stared at him. "Except…"

John stopped walking and turned, raising a brow. Sherlock approached him and pulled him into a hug, burying his face in John's neck. John paused, but returned the hug willingly.

At least, he would have, if Sherlock hadn't snapped away not a second later.

"You didn't go to buy more milk, John. Where would you have gone? Tesco closes at eleven. Your body temperature is still warm, so you couldn't have been out longer than a few seconds. Not to mention, we have a chain smoker currently residing outside on the stairs next door. You would smell like tobacco ash the moment you returned. Mrs. Hudson hadn't heard you leave in the seven minutes she stood talking to a client."

John blinked, an expression akin to a deer in headlights. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Sherlock stepped back.

"You're hiding something from me."

John still said nothing. Sherlock looked away, and John faltered.

"Sherlock, I promise, it's not anything you should concern yourself with," John told him. "I have a habit of disappearing now and then. But I'm not hiding anything from you to spite you. It's for your own good, okay?"

"How would I know?" Sherlock asked, walking to his room. The door clicked shut and locked. John approached the door and lifted a hand to knock, but lowered it. It was useless. He turned back and walked toward the fireplace.

Inside, Sherlock curled into a ball and listened as John walked away. He failed to notice John returning, which would be the reason why he was startled when he heard John's voice just outside the door again.

"_Alohamora_."

* * *

**end of chapter**

**Author's note: I'm sorry that my updates seem random. I've been attempting to balance school, real life, and my writing, but it doesn't seem to be working.**

**I am completely honest when I say that your deductions blew me away. I as a writer felt very proud to have such observant readers. Many of you pointed out a few details and quirks I added in subconsciously, such as Sherlock clicking his tongue.**

**Apologies for the short chapter. I promise that I will send a big fat one soon.**


	4. Expelliarmus

**12:08 p.m.**

John spent a good ten minutes kissing his partner stupid, and another few to explain to him in detail about his talents. Sherlock seemed skeptical until John had whispered '_Lumos_' and the tip of the stick- a wand, he now realized- lit like a small flame.

"Impossible, simply impossible," Sherlock breathed. John gave him a small, nervous smile.

"It's not impossible," John told him. "I'm right here, aren't I..?"

"But this… How?" the detective looked at him with such an innocent, wonder-filled look that John rarely ever saw. John wanted to kiss him again for it. Badly.

"I don't know how. I was born with it, I suppose. I got a letter in the mail one morning, delivered by an owl. It was sealed with wax, like from an old movie. Inside, it explained to my parents that I was gifted and that I would be attending a school that let me control my abilities," John said, lowering his gaze to the wand. The tip's glow, the only source of light in the room, seemed to flicker in response to his thoughts. "I attended, graduated, and hid. I only use my magic for special occasions."

"How did I not see-?"

"How did you not see that your flatmate can disappear and reappear within seconds? Conjure the milk so quickly? Enters the loo and comes out perfectly shaven within two minutes? Sherlock, you're naturally absent-minded to the world around you. You delete things from your memory. I use this to my advantage," John told him. "You're the perfect disguise."

Sherlock's expression crumbled at the label. "Is that all I was?"

"What? No, heavens no," John shook his head quickly. "No, it was just a bonus. I just liked you, you insane sod."

Sherlock still did not relax until John leaned in to kiss him. All worries seemed to melt now, and he kissed back. John smiled slightly.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked, expecting the same answer and the thrill of deja vu.

"That depends," Sherlock answered, startling the doctor. John looked up at him warily. "How many times have you asked me this question?"

* * *

**Two Years Ago**

"John, we have a case, get dressed-" Sherlock had burst into the room unannounced, just as three paperbacks dropped from their midair flight from John's desk to his bookshelf. The owner of said books, who was currently dusting his bedside table, stood frozen in his position. John watched him with startled bug eyes as Sherlock looked around him in bewilderment.

The laptop on the desk was typing itself, writing a blog entry about Sherlock's last case. A pen swirled on paper, writing a letter to one of John's army friends who had moved to Berlin. An extra rag was dusting away at John's wardrobe. And the doctor was standing too far away for anyone to consider that he was even remotely touching any of these moving things.

"Sherlock, I can explain."

* * *

**One Month Later**

John was more careful about using magic in 221B. It took three times longer to finish his chores, but it was for the better. He didn't want to have his mad flatmate walk in on him riding his broom to dust the hard-to-reach shelves or the tops of the doorways or using magic to press his clothes minutes before he left for work. What he hadn't accounted for, however, was his use of magic outside of the flat.

They were on a case; Sherlock had chosen one that led to a group of suicide bombers. John had his wand in his coat pocket for emergencies.

"I promise you your freedom, Stanley," Sherlock's voice rumbled in the empty room. "if you put the trigger down and tell me the names of your colleagues."

Where were they again? Oh, yes, that's right, in an unoccupied room of Parliament, trying to talk down a semi-reluctant bomber from detonating the bomb strapped to his stomach. John stood with his hands in the air, a pose identical to Sherlock's, assessing the would-be terrorist's next move. He needed the man to turn around…

"What makes you think I'll do that, Mr. Holmes? I know how the justice system works. You promise me freedom, aye? Does that entail the detainment I'll get during the trials? Protection from the threats I'll be under if I agree? It's too late, Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry you ended up here at the wrong time," the bomber said with a shaking voice. He thumbed the button that would send them up in flames. Turn around…

Stanley closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the sensation of false peace wash over him in his last moments. John lowered his hands and pulled his wand out quickly.

"Vatican cameos," he shouted, "_Petrificus Totalis_!"

Stanley hardly had an opportunity to look before he went rigid, falling to the floor like a statue. John eased the trigger from his hand and set it on the table. Sherlock rose off the ground where he'd flung himself and stared at the bomber.

"What happened, what did you do?" Sherlock demanded. John looked up at him with fear in his eyes.

* * *

**One Month Ago**

"John, why is there an owl carrying a moving picture on our windowsill?"

"..._shit_."

* * *

**Present**

"Fourteen times," John answered gravely. "You found out fourteen times."

"And you've deleted my memories of these thirteen times?" Sherlock asked. John buried his face in his shoulder and nodded. "Did I not accept you..?"

"No," John whispered. "You loved me even more."

"I don't… understand," Sherlock admitted. John eased away, looking at his hands as he spoke.

"Every time you found out, you would tell me that you still loved me- the first few times you just said we were still friends, we weren't a couple yet." John smiled, but sobered quickly. "But you seemed… odd. It was like my magic was a tool for you. Soon, it was no longer 'John, we have a case' and more 'Bring your wand, we have a case', or 'Is there a spell that can make everyone shut up?'. It hurt more when we got together, because I figured you loved my magic more than me."  
"John, no-"

"Let me finish. I erased your memory the first few times weeks after you discovered it. Somewhere along the line, I had decided that I would save myself the pain and do it when you slept," John finished. "Every time, you would tell me that you loved me no matter what I was. It was reassuring. I would rather it end like that than remain invisible to you until you're forced to remember I exist."

Sherlock kissed him then, effectively cutting him off and forcing him to quiet. John made a muffled sound of protest, though not a second later he melted into him. Sherlock pulled back to breathe, but he continued to pepper kisses along John's face.

"John Watson, you are more than your talents," he told him forcefully. "I fell in love with an army doctor that was mad enough to follow me on a murder case the same day we looked at this flat together. I was not aware you were a wizard then, and finding out now changes nothing. Understand?"

John said nothing, but nodded anyway.

"Do you know anything of silver bees?" Sherlock blurted, incapable of stopping himself. John's eyebrows rose.

"Yes, in fact I do," he answered. "They're my Patronus. How did you know..?"

"I... I didn't," Sherlock's brow furrowed. "It's like a dream, I think. What's a Patronus?"

"It's a spell. Specifically, a protective spell that wards away a creature called a Dementor," John explained. "Dementors are creatures that suck away at your very soul and fill you with unimaginable sadness. A Patronus is said to be a metaphysical representation of your soul. Mine is… bees."

"Did you ever save me? From a Dementor?"

"Yes. Once. We had a row and I went home. I saw the fog and you wouldn't answer your phone, so I looked for you," John looked at his hands again. "I could feel the dread. I could feel the fear pouring off of you in waves. I saw your soul."

He looked up at Sherlock with haunted eyes. "A Dementor's Kiss is very powerful. The Dementor will tear your soul from your body and eat away at it until you're nothing but a shell. I don't know why it targeted you, but it almost succeeded in sucking away yours. I saved you just in time…"

He shivered and buried his face in Sherlock's neck. "I almost lost you."

"You won't lose me, John. Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock whispered. "I'm right here."

"Thank you," the wizard whispered.

"Were we together at that point?"

"What?"

"When you saved me. Were we a couple?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Three days ago."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Let me remember. Please."

**End of Chapter 4**

**AN: So Sherlock knows! And we have a small account of a few of the times Sherlock has made his discoveries. We still don't know why the Dementor attacked (and believe me that will be explained later), nor where John goes when he disappears. We don't even know if he was in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. I'll let you figure it out!**

**Oh, and this chapter is a little bit longer than last. Yay!**

**I am currently unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own and correct me if you find anything. Questions and concerns may be sorted in a PM or a review. Subscribing is optional but if you like the story enough to want to read the updates, it may be convenient. Stay classy!**


	5. Locomotor

**AN: I'm so happy that my story has gotten such wonderful feedback! Unfortunately, after this small bit is finished, I will not be able to continue writing. As it stands, much of what I had planned for it will remain unwritten. In this case, I have several not-so spoilers for you all so you know what happens in the story from this chapter on.**

**-spoilers below-**

**Sherlock is actually a veela (seductive magical creature), but has no recollection of it due to John's first _Obliviate_ spell. His memory returns, and they battle Lord Voldemort's rotting corpse as he returns from the dead. They enlist the help of Mrs. Hudson, who is secretly a witch, Greg Lestrade, who is a wizard, and Mycroft Holmes, who was born a vampire. Basically, everyone they've ever interacted with has magical shit in their blood.**

**Harry Potter joins them in their fight along with his ridiculously-named youngest son. My OC, Raven Century Riddle, is Voldy's kick-ass daughter who falls in love with Sherlock, which starts a love triangle.**

**John comes to the startling realization that this is my f-cked up April Fools prank and I would never do that to you guys. Don't kill me! Here's a small fluffy scene to tide y'all over until I finish the next chapter.**

* * *

Sherlock made a point of showing John how much he loved him the following week. John often found notes on the fridge ('experiment in juice container, don't touch'), or angelic notes drifting softly from Sherlock's violin on Sleepless Nights, or even a new carton of milk sitting pleasantly on the counter when he got home, detective out like a light on the sofa. And while these acts of love and kindness was very much welcome, John could see the obvious point Sherlock was trying to make.

This is why John had dragged Sherlock out of bed early this morning and drove him through a sleepy London to the Shard, where he Apparated them onto the roof.

Sherlock felt like screaming as they teleported themselves up. The pressure was crushing, and he felt like if he let go of John he would be ripped apart where he was. Once they were safely on top of the building, he did let out a yell of surprise. John waited patiently for him to finish, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"What was that?" Sherlock demanded. "John, what did you do? What?"

"It's just a spell," the wizard shrugged. "Easy and almost-safe travelling to anywhere you need to go. And we're here now."

Sherlock gave him a questioning glance. John held out his hand, palm down, and commanded, "Up!"

A broomstick that lay on the ground sprung to life and flew into John's hand. He caught it effortlessly and grinned.

"It's time for your first flying lesson."

* * *

"John, I'm not- I'm not sure about- about this!" Sherlock shouted, wobbling a little. John had barely kicked them up and they were now ten feet from the roof of the building. Sherlock's arms wound around his torso from behind and crushed him in a tight embrace. John kept his hands on the broomstick.

"Relax, Sherlock. I won't let you fall," John told him patiently. He eased the broom forward, causing the detective to panic and cling to him tighter. John believed that if the poor man wasn't too afraid of falling, his legs would be around him, too. He felt Sherlock bury his face in John's shoulder.

John slowly eased the broom forward again, this time with only a small whimper of fear as protest. He continued to fly forward and came to a stop. "Sherlock."

"No."

"Sherlock."

"No."

"Sherlock, will you just look up for a moment? You don't have to look down," John told him gently.

Sherlock slowly lifted his head and looked forward. John smiled as he heard a small intake of breath from behind.

An orange haze settled on the edge of the horizon, mixed with purples and blues. The sun was slowly poking its way out of the fog that surrounded England. It was the most beautiful sunrise Sherlock had ever seen. It looked like Heaven.

"It's beautiful," he found himself saying. John chuckled a little.

"Yeah. Not as pretty as the ones I saw at school, though. There was more magic to it, I suppose," he said.

Sherlock nodded and then, out of curiosity, looked down.

The resulting episode of panic and wobbling took ten minutes to settle, and another ten for John to descend peacefully to the ground.

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry this isn't a very long chapter, but the chapter coming up is quite a long one and is taking a long time to write. I figured you all deserved a fluffy little bit to tide you over until I'm finished. Stay classy!**


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